


My Kind of Stranger

by orange_panic_archive



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angst and Feels, Awkward Romance, F/M, First Meetings, Hook-Up, Mild Smut, Non-Explicit Sex, One Night Stands, Pre-Canon, Random Encounters, just ship Iroh with everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_panic_archive/pseuds/orange_panic_archive
Summary: Lieutenant Commander Iroh finds himself with an unexpected night free in Zaofu. Bad decisions are made, followed by worse ones.Kuviroh... kind of.
Relationships: Iroh II/Kuvira (Avatar)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	My Kind of Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked why there weren't many Iroh/Kuvira ships. I thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it, and then... this happened. I'm sorry, and you're welcome.
> 
> Pre-canon. Nobody seems to know how old Kuvira is, so I made her close enough in age to Iroh that it isn't skeevy. 
> 
> M for language, non-explicit sex. As always, comments/feedback appreciated.

Iroh glanced quickly both directions, then pushed on the door. He wasn’t fleeing, not exactly. He’d never call it that. But he hadn’t been discharged, either, and if anyone caught him he’d probably wind up locked in here for another month just to teach him a lesson. He was finding that, prince or no, once you entered the doors of a healing center you were most decidedly _not_ in charge. 

The side door he’d found opened onto a crowded street that Iroh thought—hoped—might be the back of the building. It was early evening, and the many stalls that lined the wide avenue were doing a brisk business in various kinds of street food. The odor of steamed dumplings and roasted meats hit Iroh’s nose like a physical force and his stomach roared. _Real food!_ The smells practically pulled him forward, leading him down the short flight of steps and into the street. 

Discovering street food had been one of the most amazing parts of joining the United Forces. The palace of the Fire Nation employed some of the best chefs in the world, and Iroh had grown up with a healthy appreciation for a good meal. But it was only when he’d started traveling that he’d realized exactly how limited he’d been. No one in the Fire Nation would have thought of serving the royal family things like squid-ink seaweed noodles from the South Pole or buffalo-yak-on-a-stick from the northern Earth Kingdom, let alone anything sauteed in three-day-old grease and served in a paper cone, piping hot. But Iroh loved it. Before long, every new port, every new city or town or cluster of battered huts, almost the first thing he did was go see what the locals ate. Whereas many of his brothers-and-sisters-in-arms found the first bar or brothel as soon as they docked, Iroh could more often be found standing outside the closest book stall, happily munching on one odd thing or another as he scanned the titles for something interesting. 

It wasn’t that Iroh hadn’t found… other things, he supposed, to do in the various ports. But he’d never cared over-much what people thought of him, and after a few months of doing what everyone else did he realized that he was a lot happier exploring the food and culture of the various places he visited than the kinds of sad, seedy establishments many of his friends sought out. Iroh liked sex as much as most men his age, which is to say quite a bit, but he didn’t want to do it that way. Perhaps it was another thing that made him odd, but he always held out hope that someone would actually want him for who he was, or at the very least least how he looked, and not just what jingled in his pocket.

Zaofu was different though. First, it wasn’t a port, it being instead on the edge of the vast desert that formed the bulk of the central Earth Kingdom. Second, he’d hardly seen any of it. He’d been mostly unconscious when they’d taken him here, and though the vicious wounds he’d gotten in their encounter with the sandbenders had been healed easily enough by the United Forces’ waterbender healers, the deep infection that had set in after had kept him trapped in the healing center here for more than six weeks. Finally, Iroh had decided that he couldn’t take it anymore. The only thing he hated more than being fussed over was being trapped inside, and now that he was feeling better he’d decided he’d had enough. Besides, he was scheduled to leave to rejoin his fleet in two days. For Zaofu, it was now or never.

At first glance, Zaofu was a beautiful city. Despite being at the edge of the desert, it was high enough in the mountains that everything was lush and green. Dappled granite peaks soared into the sky to the north and east, their thickly wooded slopes giving way to bare rock and, in a few crevices, the first of the late autumn snows. The city itself had been built to mirror the mountains, everything seeming to rise in elegant, sculpted splendor, the buildings a mix of pale stone and shining metal. Most of the Earth Kingdom that Iroh had seen was old, and over the centuries cities like Ba Sing Se had spread out rather than up. Yet though Zaofu had a more modern feel, it had none of the grittiness of a place like Republic City, either. It was clean and pretty, its wide, tree-lined boulevards seemingly free of either trash or vehicles. Although he’d be leaving soon, Iroh was very glad he’d taken tonight to see at least some of it.

He took one more careful look around, then trotted over to one of the stalls. While Iroh wasn’t the only member of the United Forces in Zaofu, they were uncommon enough that he knew he stuck out a little. Especially since the only clothing he’d had with him besides a pale green hospital gown was his white and crimson uniform—his spare, obviously, considering what had landed him in the healing center in the first place. If it turned out that his checking himself out was a punishable offense he was pretty sure no one would have trouble identifying him. But his discipline record was clean, and he’d happily take the hit. Yet it was only worth it if he could have a little fun and fresh air before he was caught, and the sooner he could get lost in the crowd, the better. 

The first stall he went to, however, wasn’t selling food at all. As Iroh glanced around, he realized that the street he’d come onto was hosting some kind of Night Market, like the one in Republic City but smaller. The stalls were a mix of food, produce, handicrafts, and other wares for sale. This particular stall was selling soaps. 

“Help you, sir?” asked an older gentleman with a blunt gray beard. Like seemingly everyone else, he was dressed in long green robes with an odd kind of metal collar. Iroh leaned down to examine the soaps. They came in dozens of scents and colors, but what’s more, had been either carved or molded into a variety of animal shapes. They were quite beautiful, each soap not only depicting the form of the animal, but having various impressions of feathers, fur, or scales pressed into the surface as well. 

“Tell me about these,” Iroh said, glancing up. 

“They’re soaps,” said the man curtly. He narrowed his eyes at Iroh. “You want one or not, Fire Nation?” Iroh abruptly stood, surprised. The Eastern Earth Kingdom had suffered heavily at the hands of the Fire Nation, but there had been peace for more than 60 years. Still, some wounds were slow to heal, especially among the older generation. Iroh dug in his pocket and produced a coin, then left with two of the little soaps wrapped in brown paper, a sky bison that smelled of green tea and a jasmine elephant koi. His little sister turned nine next week, and if he posted them tomorrow they might arrive in time.

He had better luck at the next stall. A big, beefy man in a white apron stood behind a kind of round metal plate, which Iroh figured must be heated from below. As he watched, the man lifted a ladle and poured a thin batter on the plate, then spread it around with a flattened stick. The customers in front of him, a young woman and child about Iroh’s sister’s age, rattled off a string of ingredients from a list that had been chalked onto a board on the side of the cart. Apparently, the idea was that the batter made some kind of bun, and you could fill it with whatever you wanted. 

The woman and her son left, and Iroh stepped forwards. He scanned the list of ingredients, but didn’t recognize half of them. 

“What’cha having?” the man asked in a deep voice. 

“Um… I’m not sure. I’m not from around here.” The man raised his eyebrows, as if Iroh’s thick dark hair, pale skin, and golden eyes didn’t make that as obvious as his bright red United Forces jacket. “I don’t suppose you could surprise me?”

The man nodded. “Suit yourself.” He smoothed more batter onto the metal plate, then rummaged through a number of bins and started piling ingredients on top. Iroh watched closely, but couldn’t tell much more than that it was an assortment of meat and vegetables, and one or two things that looked suspiciously like tentacles. Finally, the man picked up a bottle of yellow sauce. Then he looked at Iroh again, shook his head, and grabbed a bottle of red sauce instead. He poured it generously on top of his creation, then used the flat metal stick to fold the edges of the cooked batter into a cone, which he in turn rolled into a thin paper wrapping. Iroh smiled and paid, took the steaming paper in one hand, and set off down the street. 

He almost choked on the first bite. Fire Nation food had a tendency to be spicy, so he was used to a little heat, but whatever the man had done to his dinner made it feel like eating hot coals. Iroh sputtered, trying to feel the insides of his burning mouth, and raked his eyes over the market for something to drink. He spied a slender green water fountain off to his right and sprinted towards it, jamming his large hands frantically on what felt like the world’s tiniest handle until cool relief flowed from the open spigot. Iroh drank deeply, trying to quell the fire in his mouth, more than a little embarrassed. A prince of the Fire Nation who couldn’t handle a hot sauce was a new experience, and not one he was excited to tell anyone about. 

As Iroh stood and wiped his eyes—careful to use the back of his hand and not his fingers—his attention was caught by a flurry of activity over on the grass. This side of the street, he realized, opened up into a small urban park about the size of a city block with a large central fountain. Couples and small groups lounged on blankets in the grass, or on the many metal benches that had been set up around the fountain. 

“Fifty-five!” A voice shouted from where a knot of a dozen or so people had gathered to the left of the fountain. Many of them seemed to be wearing the steel half-plate of the Zaofu guard. “Fifty-six!” A few people cheered.

Iroh walked over, interested. He didn’t want to bother anyone, but if there was trouble among the guards he wasn’t above stepping in to break up a fight. It wouldn’t be his first time. Even without his firebending, Iroh knew he was physically imposing. Already tall, two years of hard work in the United Forces had turned the skinny kid he had been at 17 into a mass of solid muscle he hardly recognized. Iroh reached up and pushed his hair back off his forehead, trying to look commanding instead of like someone who’d just gotten his ass kicked by a sandwich, then shouldered his way into the circle. 

Two people were doing pushups on the grass. Though they’d piled their armor off to the side, it was immediately obvious to Iroh that they were both guards. The first was a man even bigger than Iroh, with wide shoulders and cut-off sleeves that revealed deeply tanned, bulging biceps. His brown hair was shaved at the sides but long in the middle, and tied in the back in a loop. The second was a young woman. She was almost petite, but had a compact, self-contained look that made Iroh think she was anything but fragile. Her thick black hair was tied back in a long braid, but strands had come loose to frame her sweating face. Like the man, she’d stripped down to a tank top, and Iroh could see taut muscles straining in her arms and neck. 

The pair dipped again. “Fifty-eight!” yelled a skinny man still clad in the uniform of the guard. He grinned at the crowd. “Still taking bets, folks. The mighty Jia-Zhen versus the tenacious Kuvira! We’ll be here all night if we have to, but bets close at sixty.” The thin man looked down at the guards, who had completed another set. “Fifty niiiiine!” he called, waving a fistful of bills. 

Iroh had no idea what made him do it. He reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a coin, then stepped over to the man taking bets. “My money on the lady,” he said, handing over the coin. 

The man looked at him, then laughed. “Lady,” he snorted. “You’ve never met Kuvira, then. But here.” He handed Iroh a yellow ribbon, which he assumed was some kind of receipt, then returned to calling out the sets. 

It went on longer than Iroh would have believed. He stood off to the side more or less alone, keeping an eye on the proceedings while he used his fingers to eat the parts of his wrap that had the least amount of red sauce on them. They were at 247 before the big man’s arms started to quiver, and 281 before he collapsed on the grass with a grunt.

“Out,” he panted, rolling over on his back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Not a chance,” said the woman. She pushed herself up onto her knees, her bright red face streaming, then tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ears. She looked up at the man who’d been counting. “Pay up, Yao. I need a drink.” Then she stood, scanning the crowd. “Anyone else?” No one answered.

“How about you, fire boy?” Iroh looked up to find the young woman staring right at him. 

“Uh…” Iroh said. He glanced to either side, making sure she really meant him, though not a lot of people on the street could reasonably be called “fire boy.” 

“Yeah. We don’t get a lot of UF tough guys around here. You just going to watch, or what?”

“I… um… I’m all right, thank you,” said Iroh, flustered. He lamely held up the remains of his wrap. “Just ate.” The woman Kuvira gave him a piercing look, like she could see right through him, and for a moment Iroh’s heart skipped a beat. Then she moved on to challenging other onlookers. 

The truth was, Iroh _had_ been watching, and with entirely too much interest. He’d always had a thing for strong women, both physically and mentally, something he hadn’t entirely realized until he’d left the confines of the palace and its endless parade of fragile, insipid flowers trying to land themselves a prince. And while Kuvira wasn’t exactly pretty in the way that typically turned his head, her thick brows and sharp jaw made her oddly striking. There was an energy to her that pulled at him, something in the thrust of her chin, the challenge in her intelligent green eyes. And that hair. Iroh found himself wondering what it might feel like to slowly undo her braid, to run his hands through its thick tangles, and felt himself blushing. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

Abruptly, Iroh spun on his heels and walked away. 

Several hours later found him seated at the bar in a dark tavern off a side street. The stalls of the Night Market had largely closed down but, unwilling to end the evening quite yet, Iroh had looked around for something else to do. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but it had suddenly struck him that, having been brought to Zaofu unconscious, he had nowhere to stay the night besides the hospital. 

He sat by himself at a long wooden bar crowded with customers. Iroh knew nobody at all in the city, and had always found small talk a little stressful, so he was content to keep his own company. Instead, he watched the other patrons while he nursed his beer as slowly as possible. He’d never been anywhere, besides perhaps the United Forces themselves, where it seemed like everyone dressed the same. Upon further inspection, nearly everyone in Zaofu wore some variant of long green robes, often with a metal collar. Iroh had gotten more than one long look throughout the evening, a bright red bauble in a sea of green. Thankfully though, no one gave him any trouble. 

He was nearly done with the beer when he saw her. The woman from the push-up contest. She was dressed in a long green robe of her own over light pants, apparently off-duty. Her dark hair was only half up, pulled back just enough to frame her thin face in a series of long, gorgeous waves. She’d entered in the midst of a crowd of people, all about their own age, pushing and cheering her. Apparently this was some kind of celebration.

“Kuvira, the conqueror!”

“Yeah, you really showed that asshole!”

Kuvira barked out a laugh, a harsh sound that cut through the crowded pub like a knife. Then she stalked over to the bar. Right to Iroh. He froze, trying to look anywhere but right at her and failing. Iroh knew he wasn’t bad to look at, especially if he hadn’t yet opened his mouth to begin spewing all kinds of awkward nonsense, but he’d never had a woman just go for him like that. At least, one who wasn’t paid to. Against his better judgement Iroh opened his mouth, intending to say some sort of hello. But instead, Kuvira turned at the last moment, wiggling in between him and the customer to his left to get to the bar. Iroh shut his mouth with a snap, face burning. Wow, he’d misread _that._ He leaned away, trying to give her room and also, if he was honest, trying not to touch her. 

“Hey,” Kuvira called to the bartender. “I need eight glasses of your best scotch.” She pulled one hand out of her pocket and slammed a pile of coins and crumpled bills on the counter, presumably her winnings from earlier. Then she glanced at Iroh, her muddy green eyes boring into him with an intensity he hadn’t thought possible. She was so close he could smell her, a kind of rich, earthy scent that reminded him of walks in the forest. “Make that nine,” Kuvira said. 

“Oh! I don’t... didn’t mean to—” Iroh stumbled, caught completely off-guard, but she cut him off.

“You walked away without your winnings, fire boy,” she said. “I pay my debts.” The bartender scooped the pile of money into his apron and replaced it with nine glasses filled with a deep golden liquid. Kuvira pushed one towards Iroh, and at the same time he felt a strong hand slide high up his thigh underneath the bar. His eyes went wide in surprise. “So drink up,” Kuvira said with a sly smile. The hand squeezed once, then was gone. Kuvira scooped up the remaining classes, balancing them precariously against her chest, and disappeared into the crowd. 

Forty minutes later, Iroh was on his third scotch. He hardly ever drank, especially since joining the Forces, because as an officer he thought it was important to set an example. But none of his men were with him in Zaofu, and his brief run-in with Kuvira had left him unsettled. Desire smoldered in him, a low thrumming tension just below the surface, and along with it a hot undercurrent of shame. He had no idea what to do. She’d both ignored him and come on to him, practically at the same time. Perhaps if she was alone? Iroh kept glancing behind him, searching for her in the crowded semi-darkness before catching himself and pulling his gaze away. So when the bartender had tapped the rim of his glass asked him if he wanted another, Iroh had simply nodded, pushing another coin across the slick surface of the bar. 

At some point someone had turned up the music. The low thump of bass combined with the alcohol made his whole body tingle. His thoughts drifted pleasantly as he drank, every once in a while edging close the kinds of ideas that he really didn’t need to be having in public. Thoughts about thick, dark hair beneath his fingers, and a lean, strong body pressed up against—

Iroh felt a cool hand on the back of his neck. 

“Dance with me,” a low voice purred into his ear. He didn’t have to ask who it was. Iroh drained the rest of his scotch in one burning swallow, then let himself be hauled out onto the floor. Kuvira pulled him close, grinding her body against his. He had six inches on her at least, but Iroh let himself be led all the same. He’d never learned how to dance, having deliberately skived off lessons as a child, and even if he hadn’t been halfway to drunk he wasn’t sure he could do much more than sway in place. But thankfully the young woman didn’t seem to want anything more from him, and there were enough other couples jammed together in the open area that his lack of talent didn’t attract any notice.

“So…” Kuvira’s dark eyes drifted from his left shoulder down to his chest, “Lieutenant Commander. What brings you to Zaofu?” Her voice was low and throaty.

“Swords,” Iroh answered honestly. He could smell the scotch on her breath, and was having trouble thinking straight. “I mean, not having them, I can firebend, but.... getting them, I guess. In you. Me, in me. I got in the way?” Iroh realized he was rambling and closed his mouth. 

But Kuvira only laughed, a husky purr that made his spine tingle. She ran one hand up the front of his uniform before sliding it around his back, pulling his hips to her in a way that was both delicious and distinctly uncomfortable. “I see,” she said. “Well, glad you got them out of you, then.” 

They tumbled out of the back door together into a small, dark alley. _Doing a lot of sneaking out today,_ Iroh thought randomly, and then Kuvira half dragged, half pushed him up against the wall. She kissed him again, or he kissed her, or one of those things, and at any rate his mouth was on hers and it was hard and demanding. She ran her hands over his chest, then drifted down and undid the three buttons and belt on his uniform jacket. He let her. Cool hands roamed over his newly scarred chest through his shirt, taking what they wanted from him. Iroh’s own hands ran up her arms, then the back of her neck, waiting for her to stop him. She didn’t. He plunged them into her hair, pulling her face to his, tasting the sour tang of scotch in the back of his throat as she thrust her tongue deep into his mouth. 

Her hands dropped to his trousers, toying with his belt. Then one hand ran slowly but firmly down the front. His body responded with substantial enthusiasm, seemingly entirely independent of his brain. Iroh breathed in sharply. “What?” He pulled away from her lips, glancing frantically around at the deserted alley. 

“My party, fire boy,” Kuvira breathed. “I make the rules.” The hand on his crotch rubbed quickly up and down, then gave him a squeeze. Iroh actually gasped, though whether from pleasure or pain he wasn’t sure. "Nice," she purred, her lips curling into a slow smile. Then he felt her working on the buttons.

“No, hey, here?” he rambled, unclear exactly when this had turned from simply dancing to something much more… interactive. Though if he was honest with himself, a small part of him had known as soon as he’d felt her hand on his neck. A much bigger part of him, the part of him that was drunk and 19 and all alone in a strange place, knew he wanted this very, very badly. Which, unfortunately, left only a tiny part of him, the part that was a gentleman first and an officer second, screaming objections.

“Here,” Kuvira said firmly. And at that simple word, Iroh felt all resistance crumble. He dropped his hands to her shoulders and spun her, reversing their positions and pushing her roughly against the stone. He kissed her hard, then ran his hands over her chest and stomach, feeling every curve and muscle through the thin fabric of her green tunic. He felt her smile against his lips, then kiss him back just as hard, slamming her tongue into his mouth as her hands resumed fumbling at his pants. Iroh reached down and hiked up her tunic, then found the line of her trousers. They were ties, not buttons, and he ripped at one end of the string hard enough to pull her hips off the wall. They, in turn, pressed her hands into his crotch. Iroh groaned. 

“I knew that’s what you wanted,” Kuvira whispered against his mouth. Iroh didn’t answer. Instead he pushed down her pants, listening as they whispered softly to the ground. She wore nothing underneath. He ran one hand in between her legs, feeling how ready she was, and felt a throb in his dick so hard it was almost painful. She pushed his own slacks down, and the shorts beneath, just enough to fumble him out into the open air. Iroh sucked in a breath, the sudden change in temperature only fuelling his need to go somewhere very, very warm. 

Their difference in heights was going to be a problem though. He bent his knees a little, trying to get underneath her, and he felt her shift a bit as well, tipping her hips up to meet him. Kuvira lifted one bare, toned leg and wrapped it around his waist like a dancer. For a moment Iroh wondered if the cleanest discipline record in the world would save him if someone saw him now, _in uniform,_ his pale ass hanging out, Kuvira’s muscular leg curled around his hips. There was zero mistaking what they were doing, not now. He’d do 30 days for conduct unbecoming an officer, and he’d deserve every minute of it.

“Look at me, fire boy,” Kuvira said. She grasped his chin with her hand and pulled his face down towards hers. “Look at me and tell me you want me.”

“I…” Iroh stammered.

“Say it.” Her green eyes bored into him, almost black in the darkness. He felt her hand on him, guiding him forwards, yet holding him back.

“I… I want you.” 

***

Iroh knocked at the plain white door. At first, nothing happened. He knocked again, wondering if he’d come by too early—he was a bit of a morning person, even with the mild hangover, but had tried to wait until a time he felt was reasonable before starting off. It hadn’t taken him that long to track her down though. Apparently, Kuvira was actually a ward of Suyin Beifong herself, and though no longer living with the family was relatively well-known. 

Finally, Iroh heard footsteps. The door cracked open to reveal one deep green eye above a lock chain. The eye widened in surprise, then narrowed again in suspicion.

“Hi,” Iroh said. He’d had something better planned, but now that he was here it seemed like “hi” was the best he could manage.

“You forget something?” 

“No! I… um… just wanted to say hi.”

The door shut briefly and Iroh heard the rattle of a chain. Then it opened wide to reveal Kuvira, this time in her full uniform, her hair once again braided tightly behind her head. The early morning sun glinted off her steel armor. She cut an imposing figure, and Iroh wasn’t surprised in the least by the rumors he’d heard of her fast rise through the ranks. “So, what did you want?” she asked.

Iroh brought out the bouquet of flowers that he’d found at the market that morning. He hadn’t gone for roses, that seemed way too serious, instead carefully selecting a small bunch of what looked like native wildflowers. “Here,” he said, holding them out. 

“What are those for?” she asked. She raised one dark eyebrow in a look that was somewhere between skeptical and downright dismissive.

“You?” Iroh said, for some reason making it sound like a question. “I, um, wanted to see if you wanted breakfast. Or something.” 

To his surprise, Kuvira only frowned at him. “I already ate.”

“Yes, well. I thought that might happen.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I, um…” This wasn’t going at all the way Iroh had planned. After she’d left him in the alley last night he’d wandered around until he’d found a cheap inn, unwilling to try to navigate a return to the healing center. But he’d woken up full of ambition, determined to not only make up for his behavior but to see if, maybe, this utterly captivating woman could be more than just a stranger. Sure, he was leaving town tomorrow, but lots of sailors had girlfriends and boyfriends in various cities. It came with the job. And if Kuvira was the type of person he was looking for, he wasn’t about to squander that chance simply because of logistics.

“I think you’re interesting,” he said finally. “And I don’t have anything planned for today. I thought perhaps I could buy you breakfast, or I suppose just a cup of tea, and maybe you could show me the city?”

Kuvira’s frown only deepend. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I suppose I’m asking you on a date?” Another question. Spirits, he was terrible at this.

“Sorry, fire boy. You must have me confused with someone else.” Kuvira made to shut the door, but Iroh reflexively put out his hand. 

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Last night. You… and I… and I thought you had a good time?”

“That was last night,” Kuvira said. “We hooked up at a bar. And you show up at my door with flowers? Do you realize you didn’t even tell me your name?”

Iroh paused, trying to think. He hadn’t, but then again she hadn’t asked.

Kuvira sighed, and her expression softened a little. “Look, Lieutenant Commander whoever-you-are. You might be my kind of stranger, but that’s how I want to keep it. You’re leaving, I know you are, and I’m done being left. I got everything I needed from you last night. Don’t try to ruin a good time with romance.” And for just a moment, another emotion flashed across her face. Fear? Sadness? Iroh couldn’t tell. Then she shut the door in his face.

Iroh reached up and ran one hand through his hair, stung. He’d been rejected before, of course. You didn’t get to his age without going through that. But he couldn’t remember it having ever been quite so forceful.

The truth was, Iroh liked the romance. Maybe it’s because he’d always been quiet, and slightly awkward, and overshadowed by his family, but his favorite parts of dating had always been the small stuff. Yes, the physical aspects were very nice, and he was more than grateful that he was at least vaguely good-looking. But what Iroh really craved was the connection. Someone who would look at him like he was so much more than just his title; who would laugh with him, eat weird street food, and take his silly flowers with a smile. But he’d also found that the downside of being attracted to strong women was that, more often than not, they had little use for a somewhat shy, rather quiet romantic, no matter what the packaging. At the end of the day, they didn’t need an Iroh any more than an elephant koi needed an ostrich horse to ride. 

_I got everything I needed from you last night._

Iroh rubbed at his face with one hand, thoroughly embarrassed and more hurt than he’d expected, trying not to think about it. Instead, he bent down and laid the flowers he’d brought on Kuvira’s doorstep. Then he shoved both hands in his pockets and trudged off down the streets of Zaofu, trying his best not to meet anyone’s eye.

**Author's Note:**

> Looking for what happens next? A few years after this Iroh faces the Equalists, and perhaps some fallout from being rather unlucky in love, in Team Bosamiroh, here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27393658/chapters/66949807


End file.
